


Four Conversations Hank Kipple Had With Jack Danner (and one he didn't)

by Dispatches (orphan_account)



Category: Ultimate Marvel
Genre: Challenge Response, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-10
Updated: 2010-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-09 09:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Dispatches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hank goes to college and figures out who he really is and what he really wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Conversations Hank Kipple Had With Jack Danner (and one he didn't)

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://community.livejournal.com/marveloustales/profile)[**marveloustales**](http://community.livejournal.com/marveloustales/).

1.

He kept his phone switched off during the flight, and on the bus to the campus, and all afternoon while he took care of his transfer to the forensic science class and moved his stuff, such as it was, into his new apartment; and when he'd moved all his stuff in, he'd been so depressed by how bare the place looked that he'd gone shopping for some more stuff, just to perk it up a little; and by the time he was done with that, it was ten o'clock and there were five messages on his voicemail.

"Hank! This is Jack. Just checking you got there all right. Uh... I guess I'll call you back."

"Hey, Hank, um, I already left a message so... maybe you're busy? You're probably busy. I'll call back in a couple hours."

"Hank, Daniel told me I had to stop being such a worrywart and let you go to college on your own like all the other orphans, and believe me, I don't want to crowd you or anything, but I'd just -- I'd like it if you'd tell me you're settling in okay. Okay? But, yeah, you're busy. I'll call you later."

"Hank. Look, just... call me, okay? Please? I don't ask for much, kiddo, and you don't have to _talk_ or... Call me."

"I know I said you should call me, but I'm going on patrol at nine-thirty, so, if you could call me _before_ then, that'd be great, cos then when some asshole drug dealer tells me Woody's bleeding in a ditch somewhere, I'll be able to say 'nuh-uh, he's in Baltimore' and... and, you know, it'll be true. So... yeah."

Hank rolled his eyes and checked the time: 22:12 Baltimore time, which meant 21:12 Chicago time. For a few seconds he contemplated letting Jack stew for one night, just to teach him a lesson; he stared at his cellphone's screen until it went dim, trying to balance the need for him to break away against the likelihood that Jack really was worried enough to screw up that night's patrol, and finally gave in to his first instinct and called Jack back.

When Jack answered, there was a fake levity in his voice that wouldn't have fooled a six-year-old. "Hank, buddy!" he said, almost chortling, "how ya doing?"

"Fine. Just... fine. I got your messages," said Hank. "All five of 'em. Honestly, I'm impressed. I was expecting Daniel'd take the phone away after call number three. Did you sneak around behind his back or did you just buy a new one?"

"...oh." There was a silence on the line, followed by a burst of nervous laughter. " I, um... well I, I guess you're okay, right? Alive and all major organs intact?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm addicted to heroin and ten million dollars in debt, but apart from that everything's peachy keen."

Jack laughed, for real this time. "Okay. I just wanted to check you were all right. I know, I know. I shouldn't worry. I'll start getting ready for patrol now. G'night."

"Y'know, Jack -- " Hank started, then stopped abruptly. What was he going to say? Something about patrol, maybe, except whatever it was, he couldn't remember it. It probably wasn't important.

"Yeah?" Jack was waiting. Jack would hold the phone all night if Hank kept him talking.

"You can call me. I don't mind, just... not five times a day, okay?"

"Okay. Good luck."

"You too."

Hank hung up and stared at his phone's screen again. 22:14 Baltimore time. Normally, he wouldn't go to bed for another four hours, even if he wasn't patrolling, but he felt bone-tired all of a sudden.

Seven hundred miles away, Jack was in the Nest, suiting up. Getting ready.

Hank set down his phone and flexed his hands. A few weeks of reconaissance, settling in, getting to know the city and its people; keeping up with his training while he did it, of course, but not actually going on patrol until he was sure he wouldn't make a mess out of ignorance and end up doing more harm than good. Four weeks. Maybe six. Then Woody could go on patrol again, in a different city but doing the same job.

Four weeks. Maybe six.

 

2.

By the time Christmas came around, it had been a lot more than six weeks, and he still hadn't put on the Woody suit once since he'd arrived in Baltimore. The trouble was, Baltimore was _different_, in a load of ways that he hadn't been able to predict: the slang was different, the weather was different, the skyline was different. There weren't as many tall buildings to climb up on, and everybody talked funny and thought he was some kind of snob.

When he came home to the Danner mansion, to warmth and comfort and really _nice_ decorations that had obviously been bought new that year, he couldn't help but wonder if the Baltimoreans had been right; if, despite being beaten up at public school and given a strictly rationed allowance throughout his teenage years, the Danner wealth had rubbed off on him anyway. (After all, when Lee collected him from the airport, he was driving Jack's limousine, and when Aunt Ruth kissed his cheek, the lipstick he had to wipe off was Christian Dior.)

As soon as he was in the door, he had to ask: "Where's Jack?"

Daniel and Aunt Ruth exchanged wary glances. "He's... upstairs," said Daniel, which was code for "in the Nest", which meant that he and Lee and Jack were still pretending Jack wasn't Hawk-Owl and Aunt Ruth was still pretending to believe them. Hank grinned and hefted his bag in his hand. "I'll go unpack, and then I'll say hi," he said, racing towards the stairs.

He stopped at his own room for long enough to toss his bag on the bed (which looked smaller, somehow, although it could hardly have shrunk in the three months he'd been gone), and climbed out the window to the roof above, and the giant "cloud" that surrounded the Nest.

He hadn't gone in that way since the very first time, more than eight years earlier.

He lowered himself down through the cloud and the branches where the owls made their roosts, careful not to disturb them more than he had to. "Jack?" he called out, "you around?"

Jack started, looked up from the monitor he was hunched over, and stared around until he caught sight of the place in the roof where Hank was hanging, surrounded by curious owls. "Hank? Hank! You came!"

"Thought I'd drop in," said Hank, and he let himself fall to the floor, making sure that his landing was more elegant than it had been the last time he'd tried it. Jack ran over and skidded to a halt a few feet away. He was wearing the costume, but without the cloak or the helmet, and he looked --

Well. He looked _good_, was the thing. Hank found himself suddenly tongue-tied.

Jack ran a hand through his hair. "I wasn't sure you were really coming," he said. "You seemed to be settling in so well in Baltimore."

"Yeah, Baltimore's... it's cool. It's... different. But I wasn't gonna miss out on Daniel's egg-nog."

Jack smiled, one of those broad, open smiles that Hank had heard described as "boyish", though he'd never smiled like that when _he_ was a boy. He'd been much more cynical as a kid than Jack had ever been as an adult. "Once tasted, never forgotten," said Jack, and then he spread his arms. "You know, I'd hug you, but the armour -- "

"Yeah, we've done that before and I think I still have the bruises. You patrolling tonight?"

"Of course. You want to join me?"

There was a glint in his eyes, and Hank hesitated. He hated disappointing Jack. "I'm a little out of practice."

"You'll get back in the swing of things, once you get your suit back on."

"Y-yeah... about that... I, uh..." He shifted on his feet. "I kind of... left it in Baltimore. I didn't think -- "

Jack's face fell. "Oh."

"I mean, I wasn't using it, and it's kind of heavy, so -- "

"No, no, it's -- it's fine, it's fine, you've got your own thing going, so -- But I really have to go." He looked up to the roof and let out a low hoot, the musical _hoo_ that Jack knew by instinct and had somehow managed to teach Hank. An owl separated itself from the flock and swooped down to perch on Jack's outstretched wrist. Hank stepped forward to stroke Ralph's head, but stopped with his own hand a few inches away. "That's not Ralph," he said.

"No," said Jack, sighing. "Ralph died yesterday. I guess I should have told you, but I didn't want to ruin your visit."

Hank shook his head in disbelief. "Ralph _died_? What happened?"

"Old age, that's all. He was pretty old, for an owl." Jack stroked the new owl's head, and it shifted up his arm and hooted softly. "Simon here's been taking his place on patrol for months now. He does a good job." Jack looked at Hank. "Nothing lasts forever, kid."

"No, I know that." Hank scrubbed at his eyes. They weren't tearing up, not really, though he could tell from the prickle that they would if he thought about it. "Still... I loved that dumb bird."

Jack clapped him on the shoulder, his hand gentle and his face kind. "So did I, Hank. So did I."

 

[0]

Hank stayed in the Nest for almost an hour after Jack had driven off into the night; there was something soothing about the way the owls shuffled and hooted in the branches, something he'd missed for months without even realising it. And yet, he couldn't quite settle down. He paced around, fiddled with Jack's crimefighting gadgets, looked up the records of the months since he'd been gone. Jack hadn't even changed his computer passwords.

Ralph was gone, but apart from that, nothing had changed. Nothing but Hank himself.

Eventually Hank slapped himself in the face. "Quit it," he said. "As far as you're concerned, this place is a tomb now. You've paid your respects. It's time to go."

He shut the door quietly behind him as he left, and went downstairs to make himself a sandwich.

He'd asked Daniel once how long it had taken for the Hawk-Owl gig to stop being a crazy idea and turn into something worth doing, and Daniel had laughed at him and said "It's _still_ crazy. Jack's just the kind of crazy guy who makes things change around him. Kind of like he's got his own gravitational field." And Hank couldn't disagree with that. Ever since the day he'd met Jack, Jack had been the centre of his world, and even the things in his life that had nothing to do with Jack ended up being about Jack sooner or later.

Jack never took advantage of any of this -- it seemed like he didn't even realise it, which was #1 on the list of Reasons For Hank Kipple To Be Incredibly Grateful To Jack Danner. #2 was the way Jack had taken him from the orphanage and given him a home without expecting anything in return; ##3-17 were all the times Jack had saved Hank's life (minus the times Hank had saved Jack's life, because Hank figured they balanced each other out, and probably one day Hank would manage to wipe that slate clean, except Jack had a major head start on him, so maybe not).

#18 was that one terrible, awful, embarrassing Christmas, when Hank was 15 and drank a little too much egg-nog, and he and Jack wound up standing under some mistletoe for some reason, and Hank was too drunk and happy to remember all the reasons why it would be a bad idea to do the traditional thing; and Jack shrugged off the kiss (sloppywetclumsy_God!_ how he cringed when he remembered it), and made Hank drink two glasses of water before bed, and never, ever mentioned it again.

Once tasted, never forgotten. What a joke.

 

3.

Hank had made himself popular in class by knowing things that weren't in the textbooks and managing not to be smug about it -- which was a struggle, but worth it, once the others stopped looking at him balefully as if he'd bought his way into a place at the university that somebody smarter and poorer would have deserved more. So it shouldn't have surprised him that on his 21st birthday, he got shanghaied into a bar crawl, "now that you're legal and all". In fact, it completely surprised him, and he hadn't eaten enough to soak up the alcohol, and apparently he was a complete lightweight anyway, because three bars in he was losing control of his legs and his friends decided to call it a night and shovel him into a taxi.

It took three attempts before he succeeded in unlocking the door to his apartment, and when he saw a man sitting on the couch, it took him fifteen seconds of headscratching to register that this was unusual. It wasn't until the man stood up, walked towards him with outstretched arms, and said "Well, aren't you going to say hello?" that he realised it was Jack.

"Jack!" he said, waving his hands in excitement and lurching forward as he did so, having forgotten that he was holding onto the wall to keep from falling over.

Jack caught him with a grin. "Happy birthday, Hank," he said. "I thought I'd surprise you, and -- hey, hey, you're not looking too good, are you -- are you going to puke? You're going to puke, aren't you? Hold it in for a second, buddy." Jack slung an arm around Hank's waist and walked him to the bathroom, where Hank fell gratefully to his knees and puked noisily into the toilet. He stared at the contents of the bowl for a few seconds, blinking and trying to figure out whether the nasty taste in his mouth meant there was more vomit on the way. "Don't 'member eating carrots," he muttered.

"Actually, the orange bits in vomit are little chunks of stomach lining," said Jack.

Hank turned his head very slowly and stared at him. "That. Is. _Incredibly_ gross," he said.

Jack shrugged, and even though he'd just walked Hank into the bathroom to be sick, he was still grinning. "Sometimes, life is disgusting," he said.

"Can't argue with that," said Hank. He gave the toilet bowl one last speculative look, and flushed.

"You'd better brush your teeth, if you don't want your mouth to taste like ass in the morning," said Jack. "I'll leave you to it."

Jack left, and Hank rested his forehead against the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl. He knew Jack was right; he just wasn't sure he had the dexterity to handle a toothbrush right now. With great care, he pulled himself upright, and on the second attempt he managed to grab the toothpaste tube and squeeze some paste into his mouth. It only took one try to fill the toothmug with water and sluice his mouth out. He felt a lot better without the taste of bile in his throat.

He walked very carefully out to the living room and flopped down on the couch beside Jack. "This's probably not the welcome you were hoping for," he said.

"It's your birthday," said Jack. "I wasn't expecting _you_ to give me a present."

Hank could feel his head getting heavy. He let it drop and roll sideways until it was resting on Jack's shoulder. "You're a pretty good present," he murmured, shifting closer.

There was a pause, and somewhere under the cotton candy that was enveloping Hank's brain, it occurred to him that he wasn't usually this touchy-feely and maybe he should move. But snuggling up to Jack felt so nice that he couldn't make up his mind to move, and he was falling asleep anyway; if he really had to, he could blame it on the booze.

Just before he drifted off, he felt Jack's arm wrapping round his shoulder, and he heard Jack's voice saying "Yeah, I love you too, Hank."

 

4.

The next morning, Hank woke up with a tight feeling around his scalp that wasn't quite a headache, but would probably grow into a headache if he didn't do anything about it. He rolled over onto his back, and froze.

There was someone in the bed with him.

He edged carefully away from the other body until he had enough space to turn over on his other side without touching... whoever it was; he couldn't remember much of the previous night beyond the fact that alcohol was involved, in amounts that were probably unhealthy and certainly ill-advised.

It was, of all people, Jack; fully dressed, as far as Hank could tell, and a quick glance confirmed that he was fully dressed himself, except for his socks. He propped his head on his hand and tried to remember. Jack had been there, waiting for him -- how had he gotten inside the apartment? probably picked the lock, and they'd have Words about that later, all about respecting Hank's boundaries -- and... oh, God, there had been drunken vomiting, but at least it had been limited to the bathroom, and then there had been snuggling, and after that, Hank was pretty sure he'd gone to sleep on Jack's shoulder.

Jack's eyes opened; he blinked and stared sleepily at Hank. It occurred to Hank that it probably looked like he'd been watching Jack sleep. It occurred to Hank that he _had_ been watching Jack sleep.

It occurred to Hank that Jack owed him an explanation for being in his bed.

"Before you ask," said Jack, holding up a hand, "you don't have a spare bed and your couch is tiny. And I could have got a hotel room, but I wanted to be sure you were all right. You were pretty out of it last night."

"Not _that_ out of it," said Hank.

All he'd meant was that he hadn't been drunk enough to be a danger to himself, but whatever Jack was thinking was enough to make him flinch and look away and do that thing that was half a headscratch and half an attempt to hide his face. Hank grabbed his hand and held it between them, staring at Jack, who was beginning to blush.

"I love you, too," he said. "You know that, right? _Do_ you know?"

Jack squeezed his eyes shut. "I never... I never wanted to pressure you for anything. I just wanted you to be happy."

Hank let go of Jack's hand and started rubbing his own forehead. He could feel that headache inching closer.

"You know what?" he said, "you really suck at the whole fatherhood thing. Which is just as well, because otherwise I'd feel kind of conflicted about doing this."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Jack's. For a sickening moment Jack didn't respond, and Hank thought he might have to throw up again out of sheer mortification; but then Jack's lips slid open and his arms slid around Hank's waist and they were kissing for real, and the shame and the fear dissolved into glee.

"So," he said when they finally broke apart, "were you just waiting for me to be legal so you could take advantage of me while I was drunk?"

"I didn't take advantage -- "

"Oh, I know your game, buddy. You nobly abstain while I'm actually drunk and then take advantage of not taking advantage of me the next morning!"

"...that doesn't even make sense."

"I'm just wondering what took you so long. I mean, I've been willing. Don't tell me you don't remember the egg-nog incident. I have definitely been upfront about my willingness."

Jack pushed him down and rolled on top of him. "Are you telling me you're pissed because I _didn't_ molest you as a teenager?"

"...kind of?"

"Okay, what do I have to do stop this line of conversation _right now_?"

"You could kiss me again. That's a pretty reliable way to shut me up."

"You know, I think I'll take that advice."

"Really? Because on second thoughts, I -- mmf!"

"Mmm."

"Nn -- oh!"

"Mm?"

"...or, you know... what you're doing now is good..."

"Mm."

"Oh. _Oh_."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, _yeah_."

[end]


End file.
